


Second is Best

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crack, Fluff, Future Fic, Gertrude lives au, I apologize if any of this feels disjointed I kind of wrote it in three pieces, M/M, Matchmaking, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Weddings, based on a meme, not so much in the story itself, that's where the crack comes in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: Oswald is getting married to another man, and Edward is devastated. And then he gets a message that reminds him that all is not lost; the future he planned for himself is still well within his grasp.





	Second is Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freckledandspectacled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/gifts).



> Like I said in the tags, this may be a little disjointed. I wrote it in three goes, haven't edited it, and I time skipped a bunch because I wanted to finish some writing (since, you know, I haven't in awhile). Oh, and I apologize for the perspective jumping. I thought about separating each one into its own chapter, but it just wasn't worth it for the word count.
> 
> This is based on a meme my girlfriend made on tumblr because it was hilarious, and I love her, and as evidenced by this fic, she inspires me constantly <3

Make no mistake, there was no shortage of things that were  _ wrong _ with the situation. The worst by far, however, was the invitation. A small rectangle of one of the most expensive papers in the world, the simple design in no way detracted from its elegance. Their names were embossed in the center, and while he had expected no less of such a classy man, it was not the physical object that caused him strife. 

 

No, what stung the most was  _ being _ invited in the first place. That stung  _ so  _ much. 

 

Yes, he had  _ said  _ he was fine with it.

 

Sure, he had  _ said _ that he would never love him.

 

But - but - but goddamnit, Oswald was supposed to see  _ through  _ his facade, his  _ lies _ . 

 

Knowing Oswald was marrying some - some nobody! - was bad enough, but the fact that he invited Edward, as if he didn’t know how much it would hurt… that was truly cruel. It implied he thought Edward didn’t care. He wished he didn’t. But how could he not? How could he  _ possibly _ attend the wedding of the man he loved when he was not the other groom?

 

_ Maybe _ , his ever persistent ‘other’ self suggested,  _ maybe he invited you hoping you would object…? _

 

“That’s stupid.”

 

_ It was just a thought! _

 

“A stupid one,” he fumed, “Why would Oswald marry someone else in the first place, then? What sort of convoluted, roundabout plot - ”

 

_ Like we’ve never done anything that complex before _ .

 

“That’s different!”

 

_ How? _

 

“Because - because it is!”

 

_ Whatever. Stay here and mope by yourself if that’s what you want. I’m not gonna stick around to watch. I already saw it the first time. _

 

“Fine,” Edward huffed at the now empty room, turning to bury his face in his pile of blankets. ‘The first time’ had been when the invitation first arrived, the first Edward had heard of this ‘Ryan’ fellow. Who was he? Where had he come from? How had Oswald met him? What was he using Oswald for? Edward had searched and searched and then searched some more for dirt on this fellow, desperate to find something that would make Oswald send him away. But no matter how far he went, how many databases he hacked, or how many people he bribed, he found nothing.

 

That in itself would be suspicious, except it wasn’t entirely true. The man had just as many references as the average non-criminal citizen. He was born to a middle class family, attended a middle class school, got average grades - with a slight affinity for geography. He’d played men’s volleyball for two years in high school, but was never good enough to be a star. All four years he’d played oboe in his school’s pit orchestra, but he dropped the instrument after graduating. Got an associate’s from a community college, joined a travel agency, and eventually worked his way into a management position there. According to records, Oswald had consulted with him half a year before the wedding invitations went out, supposedly to book a vacation to Europe but - Edward suspected - really to scope out good ports for illicit imports and exports. 

 

Information, yes, but nothing incriminating. Nothing that Oswald would care about, nothing that would get ‘Ryan’ sent to Arkham. 

 

And now it was the big day, and Edward could do nothing but lie in bed and try not to cry. It wasn’t fair. After everything they’d been through, that was  _ his _ place.  _ He  _ belonged at Oswald’s side, not this - this  _ normal _ man. Was this how Oswald had felt about Isabella? That Edward deserved better than  _ normal _ ?

 

“Ed?”

 

The voice was accompanied by a knock on his door, and he groaned, pushing his face further into the bedding. 

 

“Ugh, can’t I be miserable in peace,” he mumbled, reluctantly rolling over when Query shoved his side.

 

“Apparently not,” she said without a trace of sympathy in her voice, “Get up.”

 

“Why should I? Don’t you have any pity for your poor, broken-hearted friend?”

 

“Nope,” she replied, smoothing out the wrinkles in the jacket he had tossed aside and holding it out to him, “You’re the one that decided not to fight for him.”

 

“But - but what if he really  _ does  _ hate me?”

 

“Uh-huh, sure, sure he does,” she rolled her eyes, “Now come on, you’ve got something to work on.”

 

“I do?”

 

“Somebody just left a note for you.”

 

Edward shot out of bed, face twisting with rage, “I swear if it’s Oswald, I’m going to chuck it in the fire and then  kill that little twerp of his!”

 

“Cool it, the henchman who informed us said it sounded like a woman.”

 

“Alright, alright. Give me the note,” he held out his hand.

 

She sighed at his dramatics and dropped the paper in his palm. He carefully unfolded it and frowned at the sparse words.

 

_ It’s time. _

 

“What do you think it means?” Echo asked, walking in behind them.

 

“More importantly,” Edward continued to scowl, “Why write such a short note on such a large piece of paper? And why not put it in the middle?”

 

“Because you were interrupted while writing a longer message? Because you need the rest of the paper for something else?”

 

“Second time’s the charm it seems,” he rubbed his hands together in excitement as he carried the note into his living room, striding towards the fire.

 

“I thought you said you’d only chuck it into the fire if it was from Oswald?” Query asked.

 

“Not in the fire,  _ over _ it,” Edward muttered a reply, “Smoke. Well, heat.”

 

“Invisible ink?”

 

“Precisely!”

 

He held the note above the flames, waiting for the heat to take effect, praying he wasn’t wrong. Sure enough, after a few moments, words began to appear on the rest of the page. When he read them, he felt a chill crawl across his body, and he shivered. 

 

_ Is your lover-man alive? Go to Grundy 805. _

 

“Lee?” he furrowed his brow, “Is she - she wouldn’t…”

 

“She wouldn’t what?”

 

“Make a move against Oswald? On his wedding day, no less?”

 

“She’s sensible. That doesn’t sound like her.”

 

“But - but this is the riddle I told her, all those years ago… Who else would know about it?”

 

“Well,” Echo pointed out, “What if it’s about Grundy? Solomon Grundy?”

 

“Maybe…”

 

“What did the riddle mean the first time?”

 

“It was an address. My address.”

 

“Well, why don’t you start by going there? Whoever knows the riddle probably knows that, too.”

 

“I’ll need you there as back up,” he said immediately, “It could be a trap. And if somebody really does have Oswald… then they’re gutsy.”

 

“Understood,” both girls replied, nodding, “Just give us a minute to gear up, and we can head out immediately.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Edward felt shivers down his back as he walked up the familiar staircase he hadn’t seen in… ten years now. Everything about the place reminded him of his past - the good, the bad, and… Oswald. Oswald, who always managed to be both somehow. His best friend, his worst enemy. The man he loved and claimed to hate. 

 

He shook himself out of his thoughts as he reached his old door, signalling the girls to be ready as he secured his grip on his own gun before pushing the door open. 

 

Cautiously, he stepped inside, shocked at how similar it looked, despite most of his furniture and personal touches being gone. And then he spotted the difference: a shadowed figure half hidden at the dining table.

 

He raised both his hands, showing that he was armed but not about to shoot, and asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”

 

The figure leaned forward, into the green light still illuminating the apartment through the window, and Edward gasped, taking a surprised step backwards.

 

“What I want…” the heavily accented voice said, “Is for my little boy to be happy.”

 

“Ms. Kapelput, what a surprise,” he blinked, still trying to wrap his head around this turn of events.

 

“Gertrude, please, and won’t you sit down?”

 

Mechanically, Edward moved to the table and pulled out a chair for himself, “Gertrude, yes, sorry. Excuse my manners, but… what are you doing?”

 

Gertrude wasn’t phased by the bluntness of his question, apparently, and answered, “I’m ensuring the happiness of my beloved son, of course.”

 

“Oh,” Edward sat back in his chair, “You’re here to threaten me to stay away from his h- his hu- from Ryan.”

 

Gertrude blinked, once, twice, and then she burst out into peals of laughter, “Heavens, no, dear boy. I know my Oswald, and he does  _ not  _ love that Ryan. My boy is still as miserable as ever, and Ryan seems only interested in his money.”

 

“Oh,” Edward said again, wishing he didn’t feel quite so happy about this news, “But… what does that have to do with me?”

 

“You only have three months left to win our bet.”

 

“Our what?”

 

“Don’t you remember? That day Oswald was unveiling that statue of Elijah and me? And I told you about how important it was to follow your heart, because you never know which chance could be your last?”

 

Edward thought back, remembered, and blanched.

 

_ “Are you alright, Ms. Kapelput?” Edward asked, bringing a cup of tea over to the woman as she looked at the marble version of herself and the love of her life. She had tears in her eyes, but they did not fall. _

 

_ “I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, voice wavering. _

 

_ He hesitated a moment before saying, “I never met him. Elijah. But Oswald speaks very highly of him. Of both of you.” _

 

_ “Yes,” Gertrude nodded, “He was… quite the man. Kind. Chivalrous. It was a shame he died so young… Only weeks after we had been reunited…” _

 

_ Edward bit his tongue, unsure if Oswald had told his mother everything he’d told Edward about the circumstances of his father’s passing. The placebos his heart medication had been swapped out for by that golddigger.  _

 

_ “You know,” Gertrude turned to him, and despite Edward’s struggle with social cues, he knew the tone of the conversation had altered somehow, “Love is a rare and wonderful gift. When you find it, you should always run to it. Don’t let your fears and insecurities stand in your way, because you never know what the future might hold. Which chance might be your last.” _

 

_ “I - That’s good advice, Ms. Kapelput,” he replied. _

_  
_ _ “Gertrude, please. And I’m not just saying that in general. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” _

 

_ “I - I don’t - ” _

 

_ “It’s okay,” she smiled, “If you’re not ready, take your time. Just don’t wait too long, or the opportunity may slip through your fingers. But you can always tell me anything.” _

 

_ “Alright,” Edward smiled back, “Well in that case, why don’t I make you a promise - and a bet.” _

 

_ “What do I get if I win?” _

 

_ “Anything you want. A favor, money, a - a dare.” _

 

_ “Wonderful. Now what is this… bet?” _

 

_ “Ten years from now, I guarantee you, I will be Oswald’s second husband.” _

 

_ Gertrude gave a surprised grin, pleased, but wary. Before she could say anything however, another voice spoke that made Edward nearly jump out of his skin. _

 

_ “What happened to my first husband?” Oswald asked. _

 

_ Using all the control he could muster, Edward gave him a winning smile, “Nothing you can prove.” _

 

“Ten years are almost past, dear,” Gertrude informed him, getting up and standing in front of him, “Hurry up.”

 

She patted his cheek twice before shuffling towards the door, “You should come over for breakfast more often, you know. Are you busy on Sunday?”

 

“Uhhh… no?”

 

“Wonderful! Sunday it is. Nine o clock. Don't be late! Oh and if you and your friends are hungry, I made some pasta while I was waiting. It's on the stove.”

 

With that, she left, leaving behind a rather confused Riddler. Query and Echo swooped in soon afterwards, asking, “Do you trust that woman?”

 

Edward nodded. 

 

“Great, then the pasta is probably safe. You want any?”

 

“I - I'm not hungry,” Edward frowned, twisting in his seat to look at them, “Was I just invited to Sunday brunch?”

 

Through a mouthful of pasta, Echo shook her head and mumbled, “Nah, you just got _ ordered _ to Sunday brunch.”

 

“Huh.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Hello darling, looking especially beautiful today, hmm?”

 

“Don't,” Oswald snapped, slamming his glass on the table but thankfully breaking neither glass nor table. 

 

“What? Can't I enjoy my husband's company?” Ryan asked. 

 

“Married or no, we are  _ business partners.  _ Nothing more. Compliments are not part of the deal.”

 

“Yes, yes, I know. I accompany you to events to make you look content and caring, I spread false information about you and collect as much gossip as I can. In return, you give me an allowance of 10,000 dollars a week and protection. But come on - you're a man in his prime and lonely to boot. I'm not above adding a more… physical element to our arrangement.”

 

“That's quite enough of that,” Oswald said stiffly, “There is only one man I love, and I will not use you as some cheap substitute, do you understand? I may be protecting you from others as much as I can without risking myself or my empire, but you are not protected from  _ me _ . Never - and I mean  _ never _ presume to take his place again.”

 

Ryan, apparently, was feeling brave, because he replied, “You do know he doesn't want that place, right?”

 

He flinched as the glass went sailing past his head to smash on the wall behind him, but otherwise didn't back down. 

 

Oswald slumped back in his seat and sighed, “I'm well aware, thank you. If I'd thought there was hope, I'd have never married you in the first place.” 

 

“I know.”

 

“Good.”

 

They lapsed into an awkward silence, Ryan browsing the books on the shelf while Oswald got himself a new glass. They were saved from the uncomfortable pause by Oswald’s secretary, a woman with a good eye for business and an even better sense of self-preservation. 

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Cobblepot?”

 

“Yes?” he answered far too quickly, giving away the fact that he had only been pretending to skim the papers in his hand.

 

“Your mother just called. She said she wants to see you,” the woman paused, a nervous look on her face before she added the final word, “Urgently.”

 

Oswald was out of his chair in an instant, wasting no time with his coat already on and his cane by the door. Ryan knew not to meddle in his business, he’d keep himself busy with one of Oswald’s books, or maybe take a spare car and go shopping. It wasn’t Oswald’s concern what he did. Especially not when his mother was in trouble. 

 

He opened one of six secret compartments in the back of his preferred vehicle, removing the gun and knife that were hidden there. He had no idea what to expect. Was his mother ill? Was she being held hostage, forced to lead him into a trap? Did something happen to Martin? They had agreed early on that it was safer for any calls from the school to be directed to his mother.

 

Well, whatever it was, he thought as he tucked the weapons into specially designed pockets inside his jacket, he would be ready for it. 

 

~ ~ ~

 

He was not ready for it.

 

Well, that is to say, he was prepared for entirely the wrong type of emergency. 

 

“How is  your tea, my darling boy?” his mother asked as she sat across from him in her favorite armchair.

 

“It’s lovely, Mother, as always,” he smiled, taking a sip to prove his point, “But I must say… what was so urgent that you needed to speak to me about?”

 

“Oh,” Gertrude’s eyes widened, “Yes of course. Of course you are wanting to know why I called you away from your work. You are such a busy man these days, are you sure you are resting enough?”

 

“I’m fine, Mother. You were saying?”

 

“Ah, yes. You are always looking not happy, these days. I am worried about my son. Why is he not happy? What is making him frown?”

 

“Mother, you said it yourself, I’m a busy man. Sometimes my job can be stressful, even if I love doing it.”

 

“Hmm,” Gertrude pursed her lips, squinting at him, “Is this the truth?”

 

“Yes! Have I ever lied to you, Mother?”

 

She raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“I’m sorry, but why was this so urgent?”

 

“Mm, perhaps it was not. But I wanted to speak to you without that ‘husband’ of yours around. I do not trust him,” she shook her head emphatically, “No! I do not. He does not love my boy the way my boy deserves.”

 

“Mother - ”

 

“And my boy does not love him, either,” she finished, “Does he?”

 

Oswald opened his mouth, feeling at a loss. He stumbled his way through an answer, “I - I - ”

 

“You see, it is just as I suspected. If you loved him, your feelings would be too strong to contain.”

 

“Mother, what do you want me to say?” he asked, feeling rather desperate.

 

“I want you to not lie. To me  _ or _ to yourself. You are not happy with him. I can see it, and it hurts your poor mother to see. You should not be with a man you do not love, nor with one who does not love you. He is using you for your money. That is all he cares about.”

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Oswald snapped. His mother jumped back, and immediately he regretted it. He reached out a hand to lay on hers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… It’s just - I  _ know _ . I know he’s just using me. Does it bother me? A little. But the truth is, I’m just using him too.”

 

“That is not what marriage is about.”

 

“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t bear to disappoint you like this.”

 

“Why, though? My darling little boy - why must you be unhappy? You should marry for love. You deserve someone who cares about you. Someone to take care of you after all of your stressful days, just like your mother used to.”

 

Oswald gave a weak smile, “But I still have you, don’t I?”

 

“But for how long?”

 

“Mother - ”

 

“No, it is true. I am not young anymore, Oswald. I cannot dance anymore, and soon I will not be able to cook, either. I do not want to leave you, or my dear little grandson, especially not when you have no one to care for you. I want to see Martin grow and flourish, just like you did. But Elijah is already gone, and someday - hopefully many years from now - I will have to follow him. When two hearts match as ours did, there is no separating them forever. They will always find each other again, and only misery can come from trying to replace them.”

 

“I know, Mother,” Oswald replied, feeling all the weight of his heartbreak weighing on him, “I know.”

 

“So you keep saying,” Gertrude said, “And yet you married without love. Well, I do not approve.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, setting his now-empty tea cup on the table, “I truly am.”

 

She said nothing as he stood to leave.

 

“I’ll see you for family brunch?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Until then, Mother,” he said lightly. He already had one foot out of the door when she spoke again, “If you were as sorry as you claim to be, you would do the right thing.”

 

He had no answer for her, so he simply let the door close behind him.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“HE’S WHAT?!”

 

His secretary flinched as he threw more expensive knick knacks at the far wall, repeating herself in a calm voice, “He’s dead.”

 

“HOW? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know. He took the limo, shortly after you left. I saw it leave, myself. He had said something about wanting to get a new hat, and then he was out the door.”

 

“And you saw the limousine leave?”

 

“Yes. It definitely left. But soon after, I returned to the inner office to arrange your schedule for the next two weeks. It’s on your desk, by the way.”

 

“Yes thank you. What happened after that?”

 

“Well, after I dropped off your schedule, I decided I would take my lunch break. I went down to the garage, only to find the usual limo driver unconscious and tied to a pillar. I looked around and saw the limousine was back, so I went over to investigate. I was afraid there had been a break-in, or that Ryan had betrayed you in an attempt to rob you or something. That’s when I saw him.”

 

“Dead,” Oswald prompted.

 

“Lying in a pool of his own blood. It looked like he was taken by surprise as he was about to get out of the vehicle. I’m guessing someone knocked out the driver, took his spot, and then killed Ryan when they came to a stop.”

 

“But why? Did whoever it was stick around? Go inside?”

 

“No. Only the cameras on the garage level were tampered with - all the others were intact, and they show no one entering from the garage level - besides myself, of course, when I was on the phone with you.”

 

“Smart, then. Unlikely to have left any evidence in the car - fingerprints, hair, that sort of thing. Still, get the GCPD down here, get a report on the vehicle. At least I can use his death to rally public support. It’s all sympathy for the grieving widower, after all.”

 

“Yes, sir. I’ll call them immediately.”

 

“Thank you. Remind me to give you a raise when this is over, will you?”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Oswald tapped his fingers on his desk, reading over the report that he had definitely  _ not _ paid someone to illegally copy from the GCPD’s secure database.

 

_ Cause of Death: Slashed throat _

_ Other Injuries: Acid burns on both hands, multiple cuts to the mouth and ears _

 

Hmm… that seemed familiar. Oswald shook his head, trying to place what about it caused that nagging in the back of his mind.

 

_ No fingerprints besides the victim’s, the original driver’s, or Mr. Cobblepot’s found in or on the car. None besides his and his employees found in the garage. No physical evidence that might have belonged to the killer.  _

 

Nothing useful at all, there. 

 

Wait.

 

There, a note, scrawled at the bottom of the page.

 

_ Despite several eyewitnesses seeing a limousine of that description driving around the city and stopping at a milliner’s before returning, the brakes were found to be cut.  _

 

How odd.

 

Why cut the brakes of a limousine that you  _ know _ is about to become a crime scene? Why do it after you’ve killed your victim? Especially if you intend to leave your victim in said car?

 

A clear answer formed in Oswald’s mind. One he did not particularly appreciate.

 

Why do something that benefits you in no way, shape, or form?

 

If you’re obsessed with leaving clues, of course. 

 

Oswald gasped as it all clicked into place. It was like the inverse of an inside joke. An inside declaration of war, perhaps? Was that what this was? Who else had cause to send him a message involving cut brakes and the body of a discount lover? And then there were the injuries. He realized why they seemed so familiar now. They were exactly half of the injuries inflicted upon one Mr. Leonard, some eleven years ago, back when he had thought his mother dead and everyone else had thought it was by his hand. When Edward had found him, given him a new purpose: revenge, he had brought him a thug to torture. The injuries found on Ryan’s corpse were  _ exactly  _ the same as half of those of Mr. Leonard. They were Edward’s half.

 

But why? Why would Edward kill his husband? After all this time, they were finally on neutral terms. Hell, he’d even invited Edward to the wedding as a sign of goodwill, not that Edward had deigned to show up. What could be his purpose in provoking Oswald now?

 

Well, Oswald intended to find out.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Edward wasn’t overly surprised when he heard his front door being knocked down. Irritated, perhaps, but not surprised. Query and Echo were out for the day, having fun however they preferred, and Edward was enjoying himself with a gigantic homemade mint shake and a fifty-thousand piece puzzle. Well, he  _ had _ been enjoying himself. Now he supposed he would have to endure this miserable interview while Oswald accused him of killing that - that  _ man _ . 

 

“Riddler!” Oswald sneered as he strolled inside, flanked by a number of heavily armed goons, “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but unfortunately, it’s business.”

 

“Why can it never be both?” Edward gave an overly dramatic sigh as he fitted another piece of the tree in place.

 

“Don’t act coy, we both know why I’m here.”

 

“You’re desperate for my help? I accept,” he continued, still refusing to look up at him, afraid of what his reaction might be.

 

Oswald was having none of it, however, and he slammed his hand on the table causing Edward to jump and inadvertently meet his gaze. Oswald pointed an accusatory finger at him and said, “My husband is dead. Mere days after we married. I know you killed him.”

 

Edward used all of the skills and practice he had at lying to act three parts innocent, two parts indignant, and one part amused supervillain. He raised both his eyebrows comically high and placed a hand on his chest, gasping, “Me? I’m sorry, Oswald, for your loss, but how could you blame  _ me? _ We’re friends, are we not?”

 

“You tell me,” Oswald said, “You’re the one who didn’t come to the wedding.”

 

Edward glanced away, “You know why I didn’t - couldn’t - go.”

 

“I know nothing of the sort. Do enlighten me.”

 

“I’m not going to say it,” Edward huffed, rolling his eyes, “Not now.”

 

“Alright, fine, whatever,” Oswald threw up his hands, “But  _ why? _ Why would you kill him?”

 

“Why do you think I did?”

 

“You left clues, Ed. Clues only I would understand.”

 

“Did I, now? And when was this?”

 

“Wednesday. Around noon.”

 

“Wednesday around noon?” Edward raised an eyebrow again, spinning around on his chair to pick up a newspaper from behind him, “Then how do you explain this?”

 

Oswald took the newspaper with a suspicious frown, glancing over the article. 

 

_ RIDDLER STEALS PRECIOUS MANUSCRIPT, VANISHES DURING PURSUIT _

 

_ After a shocking and gutsy break in at the Gotham City Archives yesterday morning, the Riddler escaped the Bat’s clutches when he vanished inside the old clocktower. The Bat pursued him from rooftop to rooftop, ignoring the crowds below. When the Riddler made a daring leap into the open floor of the clocktower, the Bat soon followed, only to find the inside empty. He scoured the room while the police cleared out the tourists below, seemingly trapping the criminal inside. Yet no sign of the man could be found. If he left his customary clues at the crime scene this time, that knowledge has not been released to the public. We at the Gotham Gazette trust that the Batman will find him eventually, and we’ll chalk up his slip up to his being a nocturnal creature. If only he had a companion who didn’t have to stick to the shadows! _

 

“So you were being chased by the Bat on Wednesday. How do I know you didn’t do that before or after you killed my husband?”

 

“Look at the photo.”

 

Oswald looked, and he felt the frustration grow as he realized that some photographer had caught the Riddler swinging into the clocktower at the same time the giant clock face proclaimed 12:13.

 

Camera footage showed the limo returning at 12:05. Eight minutes really wouldn’t be enough time to steal a manuscript, get the Bat’s attention in broad daylight, and then be chased all over town. There was no way Edward could have been at the scene of the crime.

 

“Did you hire someone to kill him then?”

 

“What? No. I didn’t hire someone to kill anybody. I can kill people myself, thank you very much.”

 

“Then how? I know you killed him, Ed, I know it!”

 

Edward rolled his eyes again, taking a long sip out of his milkshake before looking back at Oswald and simply saying, “Prove it.”

 

Oswald let out a huff of frustration and turned on his heel, leaving without another word.

 

Rude.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Putting on a grieving face to the public was, it turned out, harder than it looked. His Saturday had been consumed with condolences from just about every regular at the Lounge. Bounty hunters and henchmen looking for a pretty penny were offering to hunt down the the man that did it in droves, while Gotham’s wealthy elite knew being in the Penguin’s good books meant somewhere to turn to whenever unsavory information about them might come to light.

 

That alone he could have dealt with, but constantly having to fake sadness over the death of a man he barely knew and hardly cared to know was a drain on his energy like nothing else. His one glimmer of hope, the light at the end of his tunnel, was Sunday brunch. With Martin’s education and his duties at the Lounge, he rarely got the chance to see his son for more than a few minutes each day. His mother kept to the house most days, reminiscing about Elijah or knitting something for one of her boys. He saw just as little of her as he did of Martin. 

 

Sunday brunch, however, was mandatory in the Cobblepot household. It was a family gathering, where they all got together to enjoy each other’s company and his mother’s delicious cooking. It was his favorite three hours of the week. 

 

He had spent all of Saturday wishing it could be Sunday already, but now that Sunday was here…

 

He suddenly wished he were back with the simpering rich again.

 

“Hello, Oswald,” Edward greeted in an unusually cheery voice from the side of the table that usually sat empty. 

 

Oswald froze, glancing around at his mother, who was in her usual spot, serving his son a helping of potatoes.

 

“Mother.”

 

“Ah, good morning, my darling Oswald,” she welcomed him with a warm smile, “You’re just in time. All the food is still hot.”

 

“What is  _ he _ doing here, Mother?”

 

“Do not be rude to our guest,” she chastised, “I saw Edward at the farmer’s market yesterday morning, and I thought it had been so long since I had seen him, that I had better invite him over. He even insisted that he make breakfast himself. Isn’t he the sweetest?”

 

“I - he - that was very kind of him,” Oswald said, warily.

 

“I’m right here, Oswald.”

 

“Yes, thank you, Ed. How very considerate.”

 

“I - I hope you’re not  _ too _ upset,” Edward began, “I don’t want to impose. But I  _ have  _ missed spending time with all of you. It’s been far too long.”

 

“I suppose it has,” Oswald replied, slowly taking his seat.

 

‘Edward was just telling us about his first job,’ Martin signed, changing the topic of conversation before things could get anymore awkward.

 

“Forensics?” Oswald raised an eyebrow, “Is that really an appropriate subject for the breakfast table?”

 

“No,” Edward said and signed at the same time, “Being a CSI for the GCPD was my second job. I programmed video games in college.”

 

“Really?” Oswald asked politely, both men well aware that video games was neither Oswald’s area of expertise nor interest.

 

‘Yeah,’ Martin nodded enthusiastically, ‘He even offered to teach me coding.’

 

“Well, at least the basics and some tips and tricks,” Edward said, modestly, “It’s been ages since I’ve done anything besides breaking into security systems and protected databases.”

 

‘Are any of your video games available?’

 

Edward pursed his lips, an expression flickering across his face that Oswald was too well acquainted with: suppressed murderous rage.

 

“Ed?” he prompted, frowning now, as well.

 

“Yes, not that I was given any of the credit,” he answered shortly, “If only I had been the Riddler back then…”

 

“From what I recall, you were still rather good at getting your revenge,” Oswald reminded him.

 

Edward shook his head, “Not that far back. I was so happy to finally find someone who could stand being around me… I was so naive…”

 

“But you are such a polite, charming boy. Why should people not want to be around you?” Gertrude asked matter-of-factly. 

 

Edward shrugged, trying and failing to smile casually, “I asked myself that more times than I care to count.”

 

“Well, I, for one, would have something to say to these people had  _ I _ ever met them,” she informed him, “And I have a feeling my son would have even more to say.”

 

Oswald blinked as the spotlight suddenly swung towards him, giving his mother a somewhat betrayed look before evading the point, “Well, these days ‘the Riddler’ knows how to deal with that sort for himself, I’m sure.”

 

‘I know what I would do to them,’ Martin signed, a dark look on his face. Oswald tensed, always on edge when Martin’s darker side emerged around his doting mother. She would be so heartbroken if her grandson went down the same grizzly path as her son had. 

 

But somehow, miraculously, Edward noticed the tension and interrupted before Oswald had the chance to.

 

“Of course. It’s quite obvious  _ now _ . You see, all you have to do is take a hammer, and you get a running start, and - ”

 

“Yes, that’s quite enough, thank you,” Oswald reminded him drily, barely heard over Edward’s stifled giggles. Martin was grinning at him in a way that made Oswald’s heart ache for something that could never be, despite how close they seemed to it in that moment.

 

“Yes, people like that deserve a good smack up their heads,” Gertrude nodded sagely, “Although a hammer might be a little over the top. Sometimes.”

 

Oswald gaped at his mother, who ignored him. That is, until she noticed his plate was still empty.

 

“Oswald, are you feeling okay?”

 

“Hmm? I’m fine.”

 

“You are not eating.”

 

“Oh,” Oswald looked down at his own plate, “I seem to have forgotten myself.”

 

“Here, try the frittata,” Edward suggested, passing him the skillet, “I remember you were a fan of it when I made it last time.”

 

_ Last time. _

 

God, that had to have been nearly a decade ago. 

 

“Thank you,” he said politely, sliding a slice onto his plate alongside some sausages and a mini muffin. He gestured at it, “From scratch, I presume?”

 

“Of course,” Edward answered with pride, “Only the best for you… guys. For you guys.”

 

“I remember,” he smiled, reminiscing.

 

“So how is it?”

 

“I haven’t eaten anything yet,” Oswald gave him a look.

 

“Oh, right, I knew that.”

 

With a sigh, he dug in, eyes closing as he tasted the first bite of eggs, “Mmm, delicious as always.”

 

“Thank you,” Edward mumbled, and when Oswald opened his eyes, he could have sworn he saw a blush. 

 

“So,” Edward cleared his throat, turning to Martin, “How has school been treating you?”

 

‘Well enough,’ he replied, ‘Definitely on the boring side, though.’

 

“Naturally,” Edward nodded, knowingly, “If you ever need a good challenge, you know how to contact me.”

 

“I don’t want my son mixed up in your work,” Oswald said sharply.

 

“I’m not an idiot, Oswald, I know better than to put Martin in any sort of danger. I just meant I could send him some puzzles or brain teasers to help him keep his mind sharp.”

 

“Good.”

 

‘Booooring,’ Martin interjected, ‘Why can’t I help with something fun? Don’t you think I’m smart enough?’

 

“I - ”

 

“I won’t let you help with anything without Oswald’s permission,” Edward told him sternly, “But - ”

 

“But what?” Oswald gave him a hard look.

 

“But maybe you wouldn’t mind him testing my escape rooms or puzzle traps? Before I add the dangerous elements of course. There wouldn’t be any harm, just some puzzles that need testing to see if there are any weak points.”

 

“Hmm…” Oswald tapped his chin, “I’ll think about it.”

 

Edward and Martin shared another grin while Martin told him, ‘Thanks.’

 

“Uh-huh,” he replied, giving them both mock-suspicious glares.

 

The brunch continued on in this fashion for another couple hours, and when they finally wrapped up, Martin stopped Edward on his way out the door. He was addressing Oswald, however.

 

‘Can Edward come again next week?’

 

The two men stared at each other, Edward asking, and Oswald considering. After a long pause, in which many factors were examined in his mind, Oswald sighed, “Alright.”

 

Edward’s face lit up at his decision, as did Martin’s, the latter of whom hugged him tight before giving Edward a hug of his own. When he stepped back, Edward locked eyes with Oswald again.

 

“Thank you for having me,” he offered, brow drawn back hopefully.

 

“Yes,” Oswald nodded, “It’s been… nice.”

 

“Until next time?”

 

“Until next time.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

Next time turned into the time after that, which turned into Edward becoming a regular guest to Sunday brunch. For a time, Oswald thought, incredulously, that perhaps the world was working in his favor for once.

 

And then he discovered the true cause of his fortune.

 

“It was so nice of Edward to cook again,” his mother said as they cleaned the dishes together, Martin at the table doing his homework, “He is such a nice boy.”

 

“Mmm,” Oswald replied noncommittally. 

 

“He takes good care of Martin, too.”

 

“For which I am ever grateful.”

 

“And you.”

 

“Excuse me?” Oswald blinked.

 

“He always makes something especially for you when he comes,” she reminded him.

 

“And he gives you presents, does he not?”

 

“It is an old-fashioned custom for suitors to bring gifts to the parents of their intended,” Gertrude said off-hand. Oswald spluttered, “Su - He’s - We’re - Ed is  _ not  _ my  _ suitor! _ Is - is this what this was all about? You invited him because you think I  _ like  _ him?!”

 

“No,” Gertrude held her head high, “I don’t think anything. I  _ know _ you love him. And I know he loves you too.”

 

“I - He does not,” Oswald insisted.

 

“He does, if only you would let him get close enough to tell you,” she frowned at him, “You are not listening to your mother’s advice, darling. You are not running towards love. You are running away from it.”

 

“I hate to break it to you, Mother,” Oswald said through gritted teeth, “But the last time I told him I loved him, well, let’s just say things didn’t work out.”

 

“So you decided to abandon love forever, abandon everything I have taught you?”

 

“If you recall, I was recently married, until my husband was brutally murdered, most likely by Ed himself.”

 

“You did not love your husband, and you know it.”

 

“That doesn’t change the fact that Ed killed him.”

 

“True, but that only proves my point.”

 

“ _ How? _ ”

 

“He was jealous. Heartbroken. Why else?”

 

“I - I hadn’t figured out the ‘why’ yet,” Oswald said, “But I’m sure that’s not it. It’s been years. If his feelings had changed, he would have said something.”

 

“Unless he was afraid you would reject him. You must not forget, he has a history of being let down,” she reminded him gently.

 

“I suppose…”

 

At that moment, Martin turned around from his seat at the table, ‘Dad?’

 

“Yes?”

 

‘I was supposed to meet up with Ed for ice cream on Wednesday, before helping him with one of his traps. I won’t be able to make it, since I’ve just been invited to an international programming conference here in Gotham.”

 

“Congratulations,” Oswald told him before returning to the topic at hand, “But why do I need to know about your plans with Ed?”

 

‘Well, he said he was going to be out of contact until then, and I don’t just want to stand him up, so I was wondering if you could go instead. You know, to tell him why I couldn’t make it.’

 

Oswald squinted at him, then back at his mother, before gasping, “You two are in this together!”

 

Martin gave him his best innocence face, but Oswald was on to them now.

 

“I don’t know what you think you see between us, but it isn’t going to happen. I’ll go, but just to tell him you can’t make it. It isn’t going to be a  _ date _ or whatever the two of you are thinking.”

 

Gertrude gave him a look.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It was definitely a date.

 

And it somehow ended in Oswald inviting Edward out to dinner, which was also a date.

 

As was the time after that, and the next, and the next. Soon enough, Oswald had lost count of how many dates they’d been on. It wasn’t until  the fifth one, though, that Oswald caught on to what was happening. They had ordered wine with their meal, and Edward - ever the lightweight - was in no shape to get himself home. Oswald offered him his old room, and Edward had leaned in, overly close, smirking the way only a drunk person can. He slurred out, “Oh my, Mr. Penguin. Are you going to invite me in for a ‘coffee’ that for some reason can only be served in your bedroom?” before more or less falling forward to plant a kiss somewhere around Oswald’s chin and promptly pass out on the doorstep. Oswald took a moment to process this before coming to his senses and carrying Edward to the proffered room. 

 

The next morning, he took a coffee and a buttered biscuit to Edward’s room, wanting to have this conversation in private. Edward was already awake when he walked in, picking at the sheets and refusing to meet his eye.

 

“Ed?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“How are you feeling this morning?”

 

“Alright,” he shrugged. There was an uncomfortable pause before Oswald cleared his throat and threw caution to the winds, “Ed. Last night. You kissed me.”

 

Edward’s fingers stopped whatever they were doing to his incredibly expensive bedding, but he said nothing else.

 

“Well?”

 

“Well what?” he finally asked, reluctance clear in his voice.

 

“Well did you mean it?”

 

That caused him to look up, eyes searching Oswald’s face for god knew what. After a moment, looking unsatisfied with what he had determined, he nodded, “I did. I hope this doesn’t cause any issues between us, I - I had thought that you might still have some kind of feelings for me. Clearly I was wrong. I apologize.”

 

“Clearly?” Oswald raised his eyebrows, “And how is that so clear?”

 

“Well, everything,” Edward shrugged, back to picking the sheets again, “You haven’t shown any interest in me since we started going - well, I guess  _ hanging out _ would be more appropriate. You put me in this bed instead of yours, even though I thought we’d been on five dates by now. And you got married. There’s always that.”

 

“Still not going to admit you killed him?”

 

“I admit nothing.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“If that’s all, I think I’ll be going,” Edward said, trying to stand despite his obvious hangover. Oswald held a hand out to stead him before he replied, “There’s just one more thing.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Instead of answering, Oswald leaned forward and kissed Edward chastely. Edward froze beneath him, waiting for him to step back before frowning, “What are you trying to do? Prove a point? Get something?”

 

Oswald smiled, “Yeah, I’m trying to get something, alright. You.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means for all your genius, you’re still an idiot, Ed. Of course I still love you.”

 

Edward abruptly sat down.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“You know,” Edward said one day while they were enjoying a light lunch on the balcony, “I almost understand why you married that man.”

 

“Hmm?” Oswald asked, glancing up from the paper he was skimming.

 

“I really do. Being married is a great advantage to you. There are legal advantages, obviously, but on top of that, it gives you someone who can vouch for you, someone who can lie for you, someone who can be at your side whenever necessary. Provide extra eyes and ears at those nasty social events you have to attend, plus it looks  _ great _ to the public. Really useful, if you ask me.”

 

“That was exactly why I did it, yes. But why are you bringing this up now?” Oswald questioned, still half-reading his paper.

 

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to be bereft of those benefits, you know.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“We could get married.”

 

Oswald dropped his paper. Instead of picking it up, he turned to Edward to give him his undivided attention, “We could what now?”

 

“Get married. Tie the knot. Get hitched. Pledge our troths.”

 

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” Oswald interrupted him before he could come up with anymore phrases, “But would you… would you really want that?”

 

“Honestly?” Edward looked him dead in the eye, “I would love nothing more. You know how insecure I am. I want to be yours  _ officially _ .”

 

“Well, I can’t say I’m  _ opposed _ ,” Oswald said, “Maybe in a year or so, we could - ”

 

“A  _ year? _ ” Edward looked incredulous, “But - but I want you  _ now _ .”

 

“You want to get married  _ now? _ ” Oswald asked him, eyes wide.

 

“Well… maybe like… in a few weeks?” he suggested, “You know, enough time to make it a real spectacle. But otherwise, as soon as possible.”

 

Oswald took his hands, making him meet his gaze, “Ed, are you absolutely certain you want this.”

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Edward answered emphatically.

 

“Then, Edward Nygma, will you marry me?”

 

The widest grin imaginable spread over Edward’s face, and he nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, Oswald Cobblepot. I will.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

The wedding was a smashing success, with every well-to-do in Gotham in attendance. Not to mention, the look on Commissioner Gordon’s face when Oswald appeared in his office to hire security for his marriage to Edward Nygma was worth more than the decorations, buffet, and tuxedos combined. Seeing Edward shine in a glittery white suit and green tie, handsome as ever, was worth even more. But before he took Edward back to the mansion for their first night together as husbands, Edward told him he had something to take care of and slipped away.

 

“I did it,” Edward said as he came up behind Gertrude. She turned around, a wide grin on her face as she conceded the bet, “You did indeed. I will have to suffer the loss of the favor, I suppose.”

 

“I suppose so,” he replied, “I like winning in any circumstance, but this really is the best possible scenario. Although we never did set the terms of what I get if I win.”

 

“Oh no?” Gertrude raised an eyebrow, “I thought it was very clear. You get the love of my darling boy. What more could you ask for, after all?”

 

Edward looked over to where Oswald was waiting patiently for him, both their coats in hand, and smiled as a feeling of contentedness washed over him, “You couldn’t be more right.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all like it, and please feel free to comment!
> 
> (although I'll say right here that I have no intention of writing further in this verse, because I have _more_ than enough things to write and not enough time to write them all)
> 
> Note: I forgot to explain how Ed could have killed him and been in a chase with Batman at the same time. The answer, of course, is that Query and Echo have _fantastic_ Riddler cosplays and nobody figures it out before they slip into civilian clothes looking as far from Edward Nygma as is possible


End file.
